


Two’s a Clan, Three’s a Party

by Chordae



Series: Din Djarin’s Guide To Fatherhood and All the Existential Crises Inbetween [9]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, ManDadlorian, X2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chordae/pseuds/Chordae
Summary: Yeah, okay. Din Djarin can understand accidentally acquiring an alien baby once, but for a second time?
Series: Din Djarin’s Guide To Fatherhood and All the Existential Crises Inbetween [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586989
Comments: 40
Kudos: 363





	1. How To Acquire A(nother) Child, Feat. Din Djarin

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mentioning of ‘Parental Bounty Hunters Anonymous’. Other than that, it should be fine.  
> 

Din shoulders his way through a blizzard of snow that definitely isn’t _snow,_ armed to the teeth and tracking fob in hand. The beeping picks up as he nears a cave, a shallow opening in the looming mountainside that spots the barren landscape. He easily sidesteps a pool of acid, warily eyeing the ominous bubble that grows larger then pops, scattering drops of acid along the ground.

The ‘snow’- flurries of potassium hydroxide, if he remembers the briefing correctly- is piled high as he practically wades through it.

With a few more staggered steps, he collapses against the mouth of the cave and stumbles inside.

Tracking fob a solid red and a deafening sound, Din hurries to get a good look at his surroundings, blaster ready as he shifts his aim from wall to wall.

There’s a glaring lack of people, or well, _anything_ for that matter, even as the high ringing of the tracking fob resounds throughout the small cave. He takes a hesitant step forward, easily presses his fingers to the side of the fob, and then it shuts off due to the acknowledged proximity of the target.

In a quick movement he turns on the infrared of his helmet, vision panning across the enclosed space. He spots what he assumes to be the bounty and walks a bit closer, flicking off the infrared. Even in the dim light he can make out the features of the alien, and suddenly he feels as if his heart’s jumped into his throat, his lungs constricting painfully at the brief lapse of unwelcome panic.

That can’t be- but it _is._

There’s a shaking kid pressed up against the freezing walls of the cave, heaving labored breaths with eyes snapped shut. A mess of matted, white fur with the faintest hints of blue that’s near indiscernible in the lighting.

 _Not again._ He thinks, overwrought.

The client had only given him the appearance of the bounty, perhaps purposefully leaving all other details out of the picture.

(Now that he thinks about it, he’s inclined to believe it’s somewhat similar to his kid’s own bounty- what is with people and _putting bounties on children?_ )

He’s unsure as to exactly how long he spends standing there, gaping at the child, because of all people how has this happened to him _twice_?

He hesitantly kneels before the bounty (the _kid_ ), carefully studying its features in the hope that perhaps this isn’t what he thinks it is.

Two pairs of dark eyes flutter open, a flick of a furry ear, and the kid- because that’s all it can be- is staring up at him, uncertain but childishly hopeful.

 _Shit_ , he thinks. It’s **exactly** what he thinks it is.

Din allows himself to take in the kid’s appearance- trembling despite the flowing mange of its fur, its brows sloped downwards in a way that partially obscures its eyes. It shifts its position, eyes blinking a few times as if it can’t believe the sight before it, then stares hard at Din’s still-drawn blaster.

Din catches the look then holsters his weapon without a thought. He leans in towards the kid, then unsuredly offers a hand to it (as if that’s the most gracious way to greet a child).

It stares at his outstretched hand and blinks once, twice, before wrapping two webbed hands around his own. Its hands shake, despite the fact that Din can feel the bite of its claws through its brawny grasp. Even through its trembling, the kid manages to look happy.

Something in Din breaks, and he’s known he’s gotten soft when he brings his free hand over to clasp the kid’s, leveling his helmet to the kid’s face.

“I’m Din.” He greets, apprehension clear in his modulated voice.

The kid stares at their clasped hands, then looks up at Din, dark eyes twinkling in the low light.

They chitter something unintelligible, then clear their throat.

“Tahns.” They offer up, voice faint and rough from disuse.

The kid, _Tahns_ , suddenly stands up, the slightness of their form brought to light. An impish tail swoops out behind them, their arms disproportionate to its slight body, long enough to where their claws scrape the cave floor. Their scant height barely reaches Din’s knee.

Din, unsure as exactly what to do, reflects upon what he did **_last_** **_time_** _he stumbled upon a child that was supposed to be his bounty_.

Immediately, he recalls the fact that he had turned around and walked away, slightly hoping the kid would follow him.

(Of course, he sees where he _might’ve_ messed up last time, but he still does the exact same thing, turning on his heel and slightly hoping the kid’ll follow him out, though this time with his hand closed around their own.)

* * *

Aboard the _Razor Crest_ the furious blizzard winds howl around the hull, the window in the cockpit displaying a vast, empty, white landscape with a smattering of mountains.

Tahns meekly follows him into the ship, Din careful to close the hatch behind them.

The kid ( _his_ kid) hears them arrive- or, more likely, _senses_ them arrive, due to his weird, magic, ‘force’ thing he’s got going on- and hurries out of the quarters with a piercing shriek.

His kid basically skirts into the main corridor, eyes alight with glee as he calls out to Din, then firmly stops in place when he catches sight of Tahns. He stares, tiny green feet firmly planted to the ground as he stares on at the stranger.

Din faintly recalls the multiple encounters that he’s had with parents of more than one child (all from the PBHA meetings that he for some reason still attends), telling horror stories almost humorously as they explained the initial jealousy their eldest child would have to their ‘new’ sibling.

-But it’s not like Din’s going to adopt _another_ kid-

(At least, not until he finds out why the kid even had a bounty on their head.)

Still, he can’t help the inkling of fear that his kid’s going to do something to the bounty- it’s not as if Din’s ever put him in that sort of situation, for playdates aren’t exactly the easiest thing to obtain as the son of a bounty hunter (and a _Mandalorian_ bounty hunter at that). Hopefully his kid won’t do anything brash, and he’s about to call out to him when-

Oh, he’s hugging them.

Din allows himself to relax, and there’s no way to prove that he smiles at the scene.

(Though, if he _did_ smile- would you really blame him?)

Tahns looks surprised but manages a timid pat to his kid’s head.

His kid turns away from them, then approaches Din, signaling that he wants ‘up’. Din complies, picks his kid up, and sets a course for Nevarro.

* * *

Din barely makes it through the threshold of the pub, his kid strapped to his chest and another in tow, when Cara starts laughing at him.

Din walks towards Cara and Greef, a grimace hidden behind his helmet. Most patrons stare, wide eyed or wide-whatever-that-is, though a few people ruefully chuckle at him, some going as far as to wave at his kid. He stops before the table his friends(?) are seated at, Greef somehow managing a straight face whilst Cara poorly hides her laughter.

Din heaves a weary sigh.

“Don’t.” He half-heartedly warns, and then Cara’s doubling over and Greef’s shoulders heave with barely concealed laughter.

Din stares at them, arms crossed over his chest (and therefore over his kid). His kid, ever the quick learner, crosses his own arms over his garish (but affordable!) shirt.

“You _didn’t._ ” Cara wheezes, haphazardly leaning against the table.

Din doesn’t grace her with an answer, pointedly turning to Greef. He is, of course, immediately met with a face-full of laughter.

“Again?” Greef manages between bouts of laughter. Din hardens his glare, which, unfortunately, cannot be perceived from behind his helmet. “Really, Mando? If only you could weaponize that twisted luck of yours.”

Din grunts something unintelligible, then goes to speak.

“The kid was the bounty.” He explains, as if it wasn’t obvious, and gestures to the mound of sentient fur that clings to his leg. “What do I tell the client?” He directs at Greef.

Greef schools his mirth, then thinks on it for a moment, glancing to Not-Din’s kid for a brief second.

“You were the only one given the bounty.” Greef explains, more to himself than the others, then taps the table once, twice. “Tell you what: _I’ll_ deal with the client.” Greef promises, then suddenly looks a bit disturbed. “Hand over the tracking fob- the bounty did say dead or alive, and there was no confirmation of the kill needed other than a fully deactivated fob.” 

Din represses the full-body shudder at the influx of information- information that he was pretty sure he was aware of, just unwilling to mentally confront.

Din opens his mouth- about to say something along the lines of gratefulness, _when did that happen?_ \- but is easily cut off by Greef.

”The pay wasn’t even that good anyway.” He finishes, taking a long sip from his drink.

Cara slouches into the seat across from Greef, a light chuckle still on her lips.

“I think you’ve got a child hoarding problem, Din.” She explains, kicking the seat next to her as she motions for him to sit down. Din shakes his head in response, exasperated. Cara leans forward, a finger dangerously pointing at his face. “This may just be the second kid, but you know what comes after two? Three, maybe even _four_ kids.” She jokes, the lightly nudges his shoulder.

“Shit, yeah. She’s right. You’ve got _two_ kids now.” Greef chortles, though his expression is still grave. “You’ve got that through that Beskar helmet of yours, right? _Two kids_.”

As Din stares down at his kid strapped to his chest, shrieking and green hands pounding on the table as Cara offers him a cooked meat of some sort, and looks to his _other_ kid who clambers to get atop the seat to his right, knocking over a glass as they sit down, Din thinks he understands.

“ _Shit_.” He curses, face falling into his hands.

_Just what has he gotten himself into?_

(Cara and Greef laugh at him again, and even his kid (the _green_ _one_ , _**shit**_ ) giggles at him although he’s unsure as to what exactly is going on.)


	2. What It Means to Be Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew parenting could be so exhausting?  
> (Apparently, everyone _except_ Din.)

Din is, for lack of a better term, _exhausted._ Not the atypical physical exhaustion of a decent, borderline _good_ , fight, nor the mental exhaustion that succeeds a not-so-brief debriefing.

Din is just **_exhausted_** \- mentally, physically, emotionally, hell even metaphysically, because he doesn’t know anymore words that suit his situation and he still has to get a bounty in order to pay for fuel but the bed looks really comfortable-

 _No_.

He’s got better things to do.

He abjectly pats the bed, as if promising to return later. He shuffles around the room, trying to keep himself awake by mindlessly folding blankets and fluffing pillows and _since when does he make the bed?_

Looking as bedraggled as a man in a shiny suit of armor _can_ , he staggers out of his (their?) quarters, foggy mind not catching on the shrieks of laughter and muffled giggles from the cockpit.

He clambers down the corridors, the walls feeling as if they could fall right on top of him and he’s sure he didn’t do _that_ bad with the repairs.

His feet carry him to the cockpit as his mind holds blissfully blank, and he doesn’t even blink twice at the sight that greets him.

A cackling Tahns is currently fingerpainting the wrinkles on the face of their green sibling, Din’s kid squealing and warbling at Tahns in his baby-speak.

Din takes a glance around the cockpit, noting the unusual amount of pigment that stains the walls, his own seat bearing a poor caricature of himself on the back of it, scribbled out in a few tones of gray and where, apparently, the kids had run out of gray, resorting to painting the rest of him with red.

(It’s a bit off-putting, but with the amount of times that his kids have caught him bleeding he supposes it’s telling, in a way.)

Loops and nonsensical scribbles line the walls, all in achingly bright colors, the sheer color of it causing the slumber of his mind to awaken with a jolt, the pain of a forming headache starting at the base of his skull, resounding throughout the back and circling his brow.

Only a handful of standard months ago he would’ve killed someone for as much as a scratch to the hull of his ship, but now he just dejectedly stares on as his kids smear paint on themselves and the rest of the ship.

Taking a glance backwards, he realizes that there’s also paint lining the corridors, bright colors circling around archways and doors, barely discernible drawings of people and aliens of all sorts. 

Din sincerely wishes he could take a moment to massage his aching head, maybe even take a nap, but that would defy what it means to be a Mandalorian and a father (respectively).

“Hey.” Din calls out, voice rough and grating from his near-sleep state. 

Both of his kids flinch at his voice, too caught up in their own decorating of each others’ faces to have sensed his arrival beforehand. Tahns has the sense to look at least a bit regretful, but his other kid just kindly gurgles up at him, paint-covered arms raised above his head.

Luckily enough for Din, the paint is less of a ‘let’s-dry-and-stain-everything’ and more of a pigmented, wet paste that was sold to Din with the promise that a bit of water will wipe it away, dry or not.

Din simply shakes his head, a body-wracking sigh escaping his lungs. He blandly wonders if tears would clean away the paint.

“Sorry.” Tahns meekly apologizes, head ducked and fiddling with their fingers.

“Sreeeee.” His kid unapologetically chirps, face painted in a poor impression of a skeleton, dark black paints circling his eyes and the rest of his green face layered in a pasty white.

Din tries to conjure up the nonexistent bit of energy that lies deep within himself, recalling a parenting book that he read, the line already waiting on his tongue as he goes to speak.

“I’m not angry,” Din says quickly, tiredly stumbling over his words. “Just disappointed.” He affirms, and his kid manages to look stricken at that, wide, brown eyes roaming over his ‘crude’ paintings.

He ducks his head, white-painted chin tucked to his chest.

“Sree.” He burbles, truly looking the part.

Din goes to run a hand through his hair, a habit saved for his most exhausted and vulnerable moments, but instead awkwardly rubs his gloved hand against the dome of his helmet.

“Just,” Din begins, then backtracks, trying to get his head wrapped around what exactly he wants to say. “Look- there’s some rags in the storage. Could you two use some water from the lavatory to clean up this mess?” He asks, voice a slow drawl. “ _Please_? I know you’re getting restless, but it’s not my fault we ran out of gas and ended up on some backend planet with inhabitants that can barely afford to feed themselves, much less pay a bounty hunter. Actually, maybe it is my fault and-” His rambling trails off to a low murmur as he nods off standing up.

“We clean.” Tahns proclaims, deftly grabbing the smaller kid’s hand as he tries to run off. “ _We clean.”_ Tahns stresses to him, then points at Din falling asleep standing up. His kid takes a small moment of consideration, then gives in at the helpless sight of his father falling asleep in his boots. He nods, then follows Tahns out the cockpit, going to retrieve rags and get to cleaning.

The kids jostle Din as they push by and he nearly lands face-first on the floor save for his trained reflexes. He only manages to slam head-first into the wall, lightly cursing beneath his breath, then wordlessly pads off down the hall to follow his kids, maybe even lend a helping hand.

The kids emerge from storage, his green kid clutching two rags to his chest and the furrier one clutching a bucket in their grasp. They both stop in sight of him, then his kid turns to warble something to Tahns. Tahns, _as if understanding him_ ** _how_** _,_ nods then turns towards Din, their unnaturally long arms blocking him from the storage room door and keeping him from retrieving his own rag.

“We clean.” They say, pointedly. His kid nods from next to him, then points to their quarters. “You sleep.” Tahns orders. “Fuel later.”

Din, faced with the decision between cleaning his ship or getting some well needed sleep, gives in and shrugs.  
  
“You’re in charge.” He vaguely gestures towards the kids, leaving them unsure as to who exactly is in charge. Whether it be in accordance of actual or physical age, they both still manage to not uselessly squabble about it, more concerned for their guardian’s health than their petty sibling fight.

Din hurries to his quarters and passes out the moment he hits the mattress, still clad in his armor but uncaring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so I’ll be uploading to both of my series every Wednesday, maybe? ahh, sorry. I’m not good with posting on a schedule. I just write when inspiration hits and post it after I poorly proofread it. Just know that I’ll post more than once a week.  
> Anyways, sorry. I think this one might’ve been my worst thus far, and that’s probably due to my underlying stress of this being my last day of Christmas break :(

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that it was cringe :-/  
> I honestly just want to keep writing fic where Din obtains more children Batman style.  
> Also ouch sorry for the use of an alien that isn’t part of Star Wars canon. I do not have the mental apititude to do research, so I monopolized my shitty hobby of making aliens.  
> I tried to post a drawing of Tahns but I actually only have one braincell so I struggled with it for an hour then gave up.  
> (Sorry)  
> whoops I also kind of bullshited some tracking fob lore soRry  
> I’m not a great big fan of using OC’s in my work (not unless they’re minor characters), so I was bit uncomfortable writing this.  
> hmmm might do more chapters  
> Shucks yeah sorry that this is worse than the others, my already small levels of creativity have vanished into nothingness.


End file.
